


interlude: to the stars

by alonsos (moonsoft)



Series: stars are the only things we share [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, the martian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsoft/pseuds/alonsos
Summary: [ bonus material for+the martian au]
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: stars are the only things we share [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/519514
Comments: 28
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! so i decided to post some of the extra stuff i had set aside for my martian AU!!! 💓 it makes me so so happy to see feedback on that series, i enjoyed writing it and if you’re reading this then thank you again :’) 
> 
> some of this will just be extending certain scenes or flashbacks from the series itself, while other chapters will be one shots and ficlets! (it still means the original series is complete! these are sort of just non-chronological deleted scenes... i hope that’ll make more sense as i go)
> 
> hope u all enjoy!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the night they met. 
> 
> (continuation of the flashback in [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9434228/chapters/21437381#workskin) chapter)

**[ EIGHT YEARS AGO ]**

“Grantaire,” Enjolras slurs, “Taire, why plants?” 

“Huh?”

The nickname had slipped out before he could catch himself, but surprisingly, it doesn’t feel out of place. The two of them are sprawled out in either side of the booth as the rest of their friends dance. It’s nearly four in the morning - while Enjolras was actually having fun up until this point, he really doesn’t feel like keeping up with them the entire night. He’s content to sip at the glass of water Musichetta had placed in front of him and just listen to the other man talk. They’re alone as two people can be in a crowded nightclub, and he’s intrigued—even if his head is spinning. Only Bossuet, far more unbalanced than normal after the sixth round of shots, had stumbled back in their direction and slumped into the seat next to Grantaire.

Enjolras focuses his gaze across the table in a pathetic attempt to look more sober than he is. “Why do you... Why _plants?_ Why are you a botany student?”

Grantaire’s blue eyes fixate on him with a surprising level of clarity for the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. He leans forward in his seat, one hand poised in the air like he’s about to give a speech. The corners of Enjolras’s mouth curl up into a slow smile at the sight. “ _Listen_. Plants are beautiful. Green’s my favorite, the _best_ color, but especially on plants, you know? It’s like - ” (He waves his hands around as he struggles to find the words) “ - plants are just so damn cool.”

“Green is nice!” Enjolras shouts back in agreement, over the steady bass of the music. He’s partial to the color red, though he can’t help but smile at the twinkle that had appeared in Grantaire’s eyes. Green it is, then.

“I have a cactus in my living room.”

“Oh, yeah?” Grantaire asks, raising an eyebrow. Enjolras nods.

“It was a gift from a professor, actually.” He pauses for a moment, and frowns. “I’m pretty sure he’s dying.”

Grantaire blanches. “Your professor?”

“Fuck, wait, I meant the— the _cactus,_ " Enjolras sputters, and then they’re both laughing. “Jehan named it Napoleon. The plant, I mean. Sorry, drunk brain is a few steps ahead of normal brain.”

“I can sympathize,” Grantaire chuckles. “And what do you study? History?”

“Politics.”

Grantaire’s eyes flash with amusement. “I should have known.”

“Why?” Enjolras asks. His head really _is_ spinning now, and he frowns as he tried to focus his gaze again. Suddenly everything is far too fast and loud and— “I need to sleep,” he mumbles, inadvertently cutting off whatever Grantaire had been saying. He sets his forehead on the table with a slight groan.

“Enjolras?”

“Yeah.”

“You good?”

“I feel like the Earth...”

“What?”

“Always spinning,” he says, voice coming out in a croak.

Grantaire sounds much more amused this time. “Poetic.”

They’re quiet for a bit after that, Enjolras taking steady breaths to ground himself. He’s only vaguely aware of everything else around him, like he’s half-dreaming, the music echoing from far away. Distantly, he hears the others’ voices.

“Ugh,” Enjolras protests when he feels a gentle grip on his upper arm. “Don’t want to.”

“Come on, Apollo, let’s get you guys a cab.”

Enjolras dutifully follows Grantaire out of the club, limbs less steady than he’d realized, but somehow he’s coherent enough to stand upright on the sidewalk next to Combeferre and Bossuet (the two of them arm in arm and singing) as they wait on the next available taxi. The energy doesn’t last long, thought - he carefully slumps onto the ground in an effort to not fall on his face. He hears Grantaire’s concerned voice like it’s at the end of a tunnel.

“Whoa, come on, don’t fall asleep now.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Enjolras retorts, though the venom is lost when he lets out a feeble yawn.

Grantaire’s grin is wicked. “You’re gonna have a terrible hangover later, you know. How much of a lightweight are you, anyway?”

“I drink all the time, thank you.”

“What, dessert wine?”

Enjolras slowly raises his head to glare at him. “Cider.”

Grantaire snorts out a quiet laugh, shaking his head fondly, looking down at him. (Even though he's admittedly too drunk to truly focus on the implications now, he feels like they have known each other a lot longer than six hours.) Enjolras blinks a few times to focus on the figure looming above him. After a few moments he raises an eyebrow, not once looking away from Grantaire.

The man in question shifts under his gaze. “What now?”

“You look like a shot of rum,” Enjolras finally manages, satisfied that he hadn’t mangled the words. He’d been thinking that all night and couldn’t hold it back, not now.

Grantaire’s eyes twinkle with something he can’t distinguish. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, burying his head in his arms again.

After a few minutes Grantaire’s voice pulls him back up from his drunken daze. “Okay, soldiers, your chariot awaits. Let’s go.”

Enjolras stumbles behind Bossuet as they climb into the backseat, the slightly-more-sober Combeferre in the passenger side, conversing with the driver. It suddenly occurs to Enjolras that Grantaire had closed the car door behind them, and is still on the sidewalk. He leans his head out of the window with a quizzical frown. “Are you not going?”

“Not now,” Grantaire replies. He hands a few bills to the cab driver, waves to the others, and turns to leave.

“Wait,” Enjolras calls out, “will we see you this week?”

“For what?”

“The meeting. Café Musain. You should come.”

(Grantaire’s smile is warm, and looks a little softer in the light of the streetlamp.)

“See you, Apollo.”

Enjolras cranes his neck to look at the retreating figure as the taxi starts to pull away. At the very last second, Grantaire turns back with a wide grin. “You know, I actually like cider,” he adds casually, and walks away into the night. There’s a strange pull in Enjolras’s ribs, one he can’t distinguish from the alcohol blurring his mind, but it’s not a bad feeling — almost like his heartstrings had been pulled in the same direction Grantaire went.

The cold air from the open window feels refreshing on his skin, and the sight of the stars twinkling above is the last thing he registers before falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’d love to accept prompts or suggestions!! if there’s anything that you’d like to see elaborated on more from the series, or just have an ExR space related idea, let me know!!! ~ 💗🧡✨


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> married life. 
> 
> (post-series)

The first time Grantaire saw Enjolras he was entranced — even as bone-tired and stressed as he had been that night. That hadn’t been a high point of his life, but he was still putting one foot in front of the other, and then one or two friends turned into a family. Suddenly a wave of memories crashes over him: a pulsing nightclub, glittering lights, and a sea of noise. The sound of their laughter. Enjolras’s blonde hair catching bits of the neon as though he was glowing.

And even now, after everything, he’s just as intoxicating. Grantaire wakes up every morning thanking the universe for this.

He smiles to himself as he weaves around their bedroom. He can hear the indistinct sounds of Enjolras puttering around in the kitchen, and inhales the smell of coffee in the air. It’s _home_. He loves this life - could probably spend every day inside here for the rest of his years and be happy.

Hell, if he stayed here, he might even cajole Enjolras into staying too. They could do well living like that: Enjolras could manage his work from home, and Grantaire works on the book from home, anyway. They could order groceries from downstairs and cook, or just order in when they’re too lazy- they do it enough anyway. They’d have to relocate the meetings from the Musain in this hypothetical universe, of course. Courfeyrac wouldn’t be able to survive not seeing Enjolras that long, and Combeferre would need to purely for his own sanity. Likewise, Joly and Bossuet wouldn’t dare allow Grantaire to stop attending their weekly drunken karaoke night, so they’d probably just bring it here. Eponine would still come over for movie night and bicker with Grantaire over what to watch. Everyone would come for Christmas.

They’d still have their family, then. Maybe not too different. And sometimes it might even feel like they lived in their own world — something Grantaire knows all too well — but this would be in the best possible way.

Ah, Enjolras. His love. His _light_. His —

Grantaire’s internal rambling stutters to a stop, and he frowns. Closes the dresser drawer and moves over to the closet.

When he’s looked there, and under the bed, and even in the laundry hamper, his confusion is tinged with a hint of alarm.

“Enjolras?” he says, voice raised. A pause. “Enjolras!”

“Yeah?” his husband calls back from the kitchen.

“Have you seen my EVA suit?”

Faintly, he hears the faucet running. “The what?”

“My EVA suit!” Grantaire fumbles through the dirty clothes for the third time in the hope that it's magically appeared. He’s not really one for dressing up in costumes, or doing the whole publicity thing — the exception being Gavroche’s high school history class. (The kid figures he’ll win for bringing in a famous astronaut. Eponine reminds him that the assignment is for a historical _artifact,_ not person, to which Gavroche argues that they’re all old enough to be artifacts. Combeferre tries to talk him out of this, but Grantaire thinks it’s funny, and would also hang the moon in the sky for Gavroche.)

Which is why he’s hunting for his EVA suit—one of the very same ones from the _H_ _ermes,_ which has been in the _same_ drawer since his return to Paris—and now has mysteriously disappeared.

“Enjolras?”

“Your— it’s in the bedroom!”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Check the closet!”

"I _did!”_

“Is it in the dresser?”

“No.”

No answer.

“Enjolras.”

Still nothing. Grantaire rolls his eyes.

“Enj-- _ENJOLRAS.”_

He can hear the thud of the refrigerator shutting and the sound of clinking glassware. “What? I can’t hear you, Grantaire.”

 _Oh for fuck’s sake,_ he thinks, and closes his eyes. “Honey?” he calls, trying to keep his voice calm. “ _W_ _here_ is my EVA suit?”

Enjolras yells back something indistinguishable and Grantaire nearly hits his forehead against the wall. To any neighbor they probably (scratch that, _definitely)_ sound like they’re eighty years old. Here’s to love and light.

Then Enjolras appears in the doorway, the morning light shining down the hallway turning his hair golden, enough that it almost looks like a halo. He cracks a grin at the exasperated look on Grantaire’s face and takes a sip of coffee.

“Your EVA suit.”

“Yes, dear.”

“It’s in the _other_ bedroom. I put it in a bag so it wouldn’t get dusty.”

Grantaire breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Come on, astronaut. Breakfast is ready,” Enjolras says, nodding toward the kitchen. Then he smirks. “Don’t want to be late for school, do you now?”

Grantaire groans at his teasing, which makes Enjolras laugh, which makes them _both_ laugh.

Ah, home. He could do with a few more lifetimes of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i really did think about that one scene in the incredibles for too long


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated E for sexy times :-)
> 
> (this is set post-series but before the epilogue in chapter 9)

There’s a scar on his abdomen.

Sometimes it catches the light and shines like silver is embedded just under the surface of his skin, while other times it looks a little raw — as if it’s only a mere scratch that will fade in time.

It has faded, in any case. What had been an angry red reminder of his isolation had faded to pink, to white. It’s more of a memory, now. Something he can forget about most days.

Now is very much not one of these times, since Enjolras’s tongue is tracing circles around it.

“Oh,” Grantaire sighs weakly, head flopping back on the mattress. His shirt is unbuttoned, and he’s still got his pants on, Enjolras still fully _dressed_ for fuck’s sake — but he already feels wrecked. That day at the doctor’s, when Enjolras’s eyes had flickered down to the scar for the first time, he’d wondered what Enjolras had been thinking. Now he knows.

Enjolras’s mouth trails back up Grantaire’s stomach to his chest, teeth lightly grazing over his nipple, before moving back up the line of his throat. His hands are everywhere: Grantaire’s hair, his chest, his waist. Fingers ghosting that sensitive spot where his tongue had just been, making Grantaire shiver.

He’s incredibly hard, and not quite sure how they ended up in this situation, but he prays to whatever force is listening that it won’t end.

He tilts his head to meet Enjolras’s mouth, hearing only the sounds of his ragged heartbeat in his ears and their lips. He bites Enjolras’s lower lip, just barely, but it makes the blonde emit a muffled groan that confirms he’s not the only one of them who’s wrecked. Grantaire untangles a hand from Enjolras’s hair and runs it across his collarbone, tracing over the lovebite he’d left not ten minutes earlier.

Enjolras’s head ducks back down to Grantaire’s neck, hungrily kissing his way down his torso until he gets to the scar again, where he stops to press the most gentle of kisses. His eyes flicker back up at Grantaire’s — “I have wanted to do that for so long,” he says, voice low and sweet.

Grantaire exhales shakily. He doesn’t even know what to say - doesn’t know if he _can_ say anything at all, but Enjolras doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers curl under the waistband of Grantaire’s pants and he stops for a moment.

“Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” he replies softly, truthfully, and they both grin. Enjolras’s fingers go for his zipper and Grantaire bites his tongue to keep from bucking his hips up. He’s vaguely aware of the significance of this moment in more ways than one: he and Enjolras in this bed, together. The fact that neither of them are hesitant for this moment. The fact that this is the first time he’s been touched like this since before Mars, before the trip itself — a fact that becomes more noticeable with each millisecond. He’s so hard that it’s dizzying.

But he trusts Enjolras, with this. For a split second, the only thought in his mind is that there is no one in the entire world that he would rather be here with.

The revelation is overwhelming, the sheer affection of it blooming like a wildfire in his chest. It’s even more so when Enjolras’s hands tug the fabric of his boxers down and wraps a hand around his length — all of the air in Grantaire’s lungs seems to exit all at once. He presses a kiss to Grantaire’s upper thigh, and then to —

“Oh,” he gasps, eyelids fluttering shut. The feel of Enjolras’s mouth around him is indescribable - for all of the time he spent fantasizing about another human touch, he’d come up with some pretty imaginative scenarios. This is not one of them. This is much, much better. 

He loses track of time after that. Enjolras’s mouth is a tight, wet heat that he could lose himself in forever. He gasps in pleasure, and Enjolras hums around his cock, which only makes the heat coiling in Grantaire’s lower belly become hotter. He would rather die than have this end, but his body seems to have other plans.

“I think I’m gonna - ” He can barely choke the words out before he moans, the sound reverberating around the room. His head tips back further. “Ah, _fuck_.”

He feels one of Enjolras’s hands trail back up his waist, resting over the scar. His finger runs over it, the faintest of touches — and it’s right then that Grantaire comes, every nerve in his body lighting up all at once. He shudders all over. It’s the one of the most intense feelings he’s ever experienced, maybe the only one that will ever matter. Enjolras’s hands grip him tighter, and he doesn’t let up, even as Grantaire shakes and trembles underneath him.

His heart is doing somersaults in his chest. Enjolras finally pulls back, resting his chin against Grantaire’s thigh until he can catch his breath.

“That was… that was…”

“Out of this world?” Enjolras supplies.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Grantaire raises his head to shoot him a dirty look - Enjolras is grinning ear to ear, the little shit.

“Of all the puns, you had to go there? Really?” He shakes his head and flops back against the pillows. “The next time Courfeyrac says that exact line I’m going to throw something.”

Enjolras slinks back up the bed, until his body is pressed against Grantaire’s. He leans in to nose under his ear.

“Well, at least you’ll have a good memory to reflect on.”

Grantaire’s eyes fly open, suddenly a lot more awake, and he moves his free hand from where it’s resting against the sheets to cup between Enjolras’s legs. That smug look disappears at once, which only makes Grantaire smirk even more. He leans in close, their lips only millimeters apart. (Who said this had to end?)

“I think I have a better one planned.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone once commented about body worship kink when i posted that one scene about enjolras looking at grantaire’s scar and i never really forgot about it, so voila


End file.
